


Juno Steel and the Mortifying Ordeal of Being Known

by takethebreadsticksandRUN



Series: Give Breadsticks A Prompt! [3]
Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: 5+1 Things, Carte Blanche times babyyyyy, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Gen, Growing closer as friends, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Idk how to spell that, Other, Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, This is a long one, Vespa and juno have the kind of friendship in this I want, and Sarah steel, disasociation, he's referred to as Ransom the whole time btw, ignore the tags its not that bad, juno steel is Trying, mostly focuses on vespa and juno, peter is just there bc I too have fallen for him, screw diamond, so soft at times guys, this turned out so long, this was a comission, woo boy here we go
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:02:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28445094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/takethebreadsticksandRUN/pseuds/takethebreadsticksandRUN
Summary: Alternate title is five times Vespa was there for Juno and one time he had her back.A look into Vespa and Juno's hypothetical friendship because I love them.
Relationships: Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel, Vespa Ilkay & Juno Steel
Series: Give Breadsticks A Prompt! [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2081154
Comments: 16
Kudos: 89





	Juno Steel and the Mortifying Ordeal of Being Known

**Author's Note:**

  * For [queercoded_archivist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/queercoded_archivist/gifts).



> This was a prompt request from a galaxy-brain user! I hope you like it, I had a lot of fun writing. Content warnings are- past abuse from Sarah Steel and Diamond, hallucinations, PTSD symptoms.  
> Writing this was literally throwing a dart at their combined traumas.  
> Enjoy!  
> xxx

_Sleep well, my little monster. Mommy isn’t going anywhere, you hear me? No matter where you go, I will **always** be a part of you. You think you can get rid of me? I’m in your blood. I’m in your brain, the part of you that you always tried to drown in alcohol._

_Sleep well, Juno, knowing how you’ve ruined us._

I sat bolt upright, breathing heavily. I could hear my mother’s voice in my ears, crawling up and down my skin like a parasite lurking just below the surface. The metal walls of the Carte Blanche reflected the distant starlight, doing little to calm my rising panic.

Normally, I found the space comforting, knowing I was far enough away not even my old problems could catch me. It was nice, you know? A new life, a new universe to be explored, hell, even a new Juno Steel in control for once.

Not tonight, though. Tonight it felt like I was floating in an ocean all alone with nothing but my thoughts and my past to keep me company. With the kinds of things I’ve done, being haunted by my past seems like so much more than bad memories and regret. It was a physical pain, knowing I could never un-do those things.

The sheets wrapped around my body like a snake, coiling around my sweaty skin and trapping me. I fumbled with the blankets for a moment, hurriedly stripping them away from me. The feeling of being tied down, unable to move, persisted.

No matter how old I was or how far away from Old Town I happened to be, _she_ always found her way back into my thoughts.

I shuddered. Sarah Steel gave the _monsters_ under _beds_ and in the backs of _closets_ nightmares. I could still _feel_ her grip on my skinny eight-year-old wrists, yelling and shouting in another one of her moods.

Somewhere deep in the belly of the ship, a machine started to whir. Moments later cool air blasted through the vent above my bed, cooling off my clammy skin. I tried to lay back down and sleep again, this time without the blankets, but it was no good.

Every time I closed my eyes, I could see version after version of my mother, her eyes full of disappointment and anger, sometimes advancing on me like a Europan jackalope cornering its prey. Worst of all was when I could picture her turning away from me, not even trying to hide how much she hated me.

Probably a strong word, I know, but hey, if the shoe fits…

Finally, unable to shake the waking nightmare that is memories of a life I’ve done everything to forget, I gave up on sleep.

_Little monster, little monster, little monster-_

Even Ransom wouldn’t be up at this time of night, I knew. The rest of the crew should be off enjoying their rest and relaxation, far away from dreams that haunted their waking hours as much as nighttime.

I didn’t want any witnesses to my breakdown, so the lack of conscious people was honestly comforting. I should have woken someone, I know, but sometimes it’s just _easier_ to deal with it on your own than telling someone everything that spins your brain into a malfunction.

The floor was freezing against my bare feet. The shock of it shook me further from the hazy half-conscious state that’s not quite sleep but still dream-like. I shuffled out of my room, shutting the door quietly behind me. I crept down the dark hallway, trusting a year’s worth of muscle memory to guide me to the kitchen- sorry, the _galley_.

The lights were on, casting dim shadows on the wall opposite the open door. I hesitated before stepping into the light. The old Juno would’ve slunk away, a scared cat back to its alley. I was supposed to be learning how to be a person again. I wasn’t supposed to balk at the thought of social interaction at half-past who-cares in the morning.

I steeled myself- _ha, steeled_ \- before walking in. The gooseflesh was still raised on my arms under my ratty old pajama shirt. It was one of the only things I took with me from Hyperion City, one of the only things without enough memories to be constituted as a record of all my failings and mistakes to make it into the suitcase Rita packed for me.

Vespa was sitting at the bolted-down table, staring at her palms like they were about to leap up and strangle her. I cleared my throat, not wanting to risk a knife to my throat if I surprised her.

She looked up. “Steel.”

I didn’t know quite what to say. Of all the people I would have expected to be up at this hour, she was _not_ one of them. Our conversations tended to be quite strained even with the balancing act Buddy and Ransom played, always a buffer between us.

“Vespa.”

She glared at me. “What are you doing up this early?” she growled. “Do you know what time it is?”

“Nope.” I turned my back on her, rifling through the cabinets for something to do with my hands. As uneasy as being around Vespa was, it sure beat being alone right now. It was like choosing to sit next to a loaded gun instead of a live grenade. “I could ask you the same thing.”

She didn’t respond. I didn’t expect her to. Vespa was a mystery to me, and at times, to everyone except Buddy.

I pulled out a mug, my hands still shaking.

“You look like hell,” she said flatly.

I scoffed. “Gee, thanks, detective. What else do I need you to point out? Is my shirt inside out? Am I barefoot? Do tell me what other extremely obvious things I missed.”

Neither of us laughed, although it hadn’t been a very funny joke.

“No, Steel, I mean you _literally look like hell_. What happened to you?”

I slumped into the chair opposite her, still clutching my empty mug. “You don’t look so hot yourself, you’ve got eyebags under your eyebags.”

It was a half-hearted jab and we both knew it.

Vespa just shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep.”

Some of the tension melted out of my shoulders at her words. Maybe she wouldn’t treat me like a child, like some broken thing to be fixed for admitting the same thing she just said.

“Yeah, me neither,” I sighed.

We sat in silence for a long time, occasionally making eye contact then shifting awkwardly. As strange as the encounter was, neither of us seemed to want to move.

I guess even uneasy companionship is better than none. I eventually stood up, intending to go back to sleep. My heartbeat had slowed back to its normal levels and the echoes of _little monster_ were less and less frequent. Something about being in the same room as another person was calming, even if that person seemed to actively wish me harm.

As I turned to go, I caught Vespa smiling. “What?”

“Oh, nothing, just nice to know I’m not the only one who can’t sleep sometimes.” Her voice was rough but her words were genuine.

“You’re not half-bad company,” I said, “If you don’t open your mouth.”

She rolled her eyes. “ _Insufferable_.”

In the hallway, I heard Vespa call my name softly. “Yeah?” I asked, feigning annoyance.

She cleared her throat. “If you can’t sleep again,” she said slowly, “You’re always welcome to come sit in here with me. Or, you know, I could get you medication for it.”

“Thanks, Doc, I really appreciate it.” I smiled. “But I think I’ll take the drugs.”

She laughed.

~~~

“Juno, love, are you with me?”

I jumped. Ransom and I were in his room, going over some plans for Buddy’s next heist. Well, he was. My mind kept drifting, running in circles around one of my worst memories- opening the door to find Ben lying on the floor, dead.

I cleared my throat, shaking my head lightly, trying to erase the picture of his body on the ground. “Yeah,” I said hoarsely. “How come?”

He looked at me, his features softened by concern. “Juno…”

I don’t think I’ll ever get used to the way he says my name. Stupid, I know, but all my life it’s been a calling card of something going wrong, a curse word in the mouths of people who knew enough about me to know how to wield it like a weapon. But with him, it sounded like something I could trust. Like he knew who I was when he said my name.

I swallowed around the taste of blood and tried for a smile. “I’m fine,” I lied, blinking away the memories. “Really.”

He didn’t look convinced, but we went back to the plans.

Later, after we had finished with our work, I wandered through the hallways of the Carte Blanche, trying to wrangle my mind back under my control. I’d been seeing Ben everywhere, lately. Spread-eagled under the dining-room table. Laughing just behind the bathroom door. I could see his smile every time I looked in a damn _mirror_ , for heaven’s sake, why wouldn’t he be everywhere else I looked as well?

I closed my eyes, trusting the empty halls, trying to block out the sound of his laugh. _He’s dead_. _He’s dead and nothing you can do can change that. **Let it go, Steel.**_

I opened my eyes, taking deep breaths. As I walked past an open door to a dimly lit storage room, I _swear_ I could see him practicing one of his stupid dance moves in the middle of the towers of boxes. I stopped dead in my tracks, stumbling a bit.

It seemed so _real_. Whatever I was looking at looked _just like him_. I remember watching him practice that same combination of leaps and spins over and over back in our childhood home, smiling the whole time. He even hummed the same tune floating through the air _right now_.

_Get a grip. That’s not him, just some figment of your imagination._

I couldn’t help it, I had to lean against the wall for balance. I slid to the floor, screwing my eyes shut against the memory of my brother haunting the halls of the Carte Blanche. If I couldn’t see him, he wasn’t there, right?

I don’t know how long I sat there, my head resting against my knees. My limbs had long gone sore by the time I felt brave enough to look up again.

He was gone.

I don’t know why I was disappointed. He was dead, I knew he was, I had relived his death thousands of times. But some stupid part of me kept hoping, kept wishing that he would walk around the corner, a silly grin on his face.

“Steel?”

_Great_. Just my luck, Vespa was walking up the hall toward me. She looked confused to see me there, huddled against the wall like a…like a scared child.

“What in the _hell_ are you doing?” she asked, looking up and down the hallway for some clue.

“Just-“ My breath hitched traitorously. “Just enjoying the view.”

She eyed me suspiciously. “Sure…”

Vespa didn’t leave. I don’t know if she was waiting for me to say something else or if she was trying to find the right words.

“I keep seeing him,” I blurted out. _Why did I say that?_ Great, now she’ll think I’m crazy.

To my surprise, she didn’t laugh in my face. Instead, Vespa nodded grimly, sitting down next to me. “Is he still there?” she asked.

I shook my head, confused.

“That’s better, I guess, but I know they don’t really go away. How long has this been happening?”

“Uhh….it’s gotten really bad in the past few days?”

She nodded again as if making a mental note to herself. “You know,” she said slowly, “I see them too.”

If I had been shocked at her gruff acceptance of my craziness before, I had reached a new level of confusion. “You do?”

“That’s what happens when you spend years in open radiation. Does stuff to your mind.” Vespa shuddered.

“I’m sorry,” I said quietly. I didn’t know what else to say.

“Don’t,” she snapped. “I don’t want your pity. I’m telling you this not so you can treat me like I’m crazy-“

“Do you really think I would?” 

“Yes? No? I don’t know, it’s hard to tell sometimes. Listen, Steel, I know what it’s like. So, if you need help, don’t worry about asking me. I’ve been there.”

I leaned my head against the wall, her words spinning through my mind. “How do you deal with it? Seeing things, I mean,” I asked. “I _know_ he’s dead, I held his damn body, but… I don’t know. How do you stop them?”

Vespa shrugged. “You don’t. The only thing you can do is find a way to cope with them, they’ll get better after a while. It sucks when it gets bad, but the best way to handle is to find a way to ground yourself. Buddy helped me a lot with that. Find someone you can trust and work from there.”

I groaned. The number of people on this ship that I wanted to spill my guts about hallucinations of my dead brother was…low, to say the least. I know I was supposed to be communicating with Ransom more, but we were so _fragile_ right now, I didn’t want to risk that.

Vespa hesitated, sensing my reluctance. “ _Ugh,_ I can’t believe I’m saying this-“ She dragged a hand down her face. “If things get bad, signal me, I can help you out. Just, shit, I don’t know… tap your wrist or something if you can’t say anything and we’ll figure it out from there, alright?”

I turned to stare at her, pleasantly shocked. I mean sure, it sucked that I couldn’t trust my eyes, but the fact that she was so willing to help…it was nice, honestly. I knew Vespa couldn’t be _all_ bad, or Buddy wouldn’t be head-over-heels in love with her. “That… means a lot, thank you,” I muttered.

“Don’t get all sappy, Steel,” she growled as if trying to compensate for showing the barest hint of humanity toward the _terrible_ Juno Steel. “If you hug me I _will_ cut you.”

“Noted, noted.”

If anybody had walked up the hall then, they would’ve been in for quite the surprise- Juno Steel and Vespa Ilkay, bonding over hallucinations without threatening each other. Who would’ve thought?

~~~

It was my night to cook, so, for the safety of everyone involved, the galley had been vacated to give me and my rusty skills a healthy amount of space.

“Just be careful, boss, alright? I’m almost outta those band-aids you like, you know, the ones with Good Cop on ‘em? I don’t wanna have to stop somewhere and get more because you said the other ones are uncomfy on your skin or somethin’, but I’ll ask missus Buddy next time-“ Rita had rambled, her short frame halfway out the door.

I laughed, gently shooing her out. “It’s alright, Rita, thank you, but I’ll do my best to avoid injuries tonight.”

She had looked doubtful but left all the same.

That was an hour and a half ago. My confidence had waned a significant amount, leaving me with a lingering feeling of doubt and the smell of burnt imitation meat. I swore under my breath, re-checking the recipe then comparing it with the pan. It was _supposed_ to be some Earth meal, tacos, but I’m not sure it would be edible.

I groaned. Normally things weren’t _this_ bad. Sure, my cooking might not be the best, a little flavorless or overcooked or missing half the ingredients but _hey, I was trying_.

_Useless, useless…_

Buddy had insisted on a rotation so we all had an equal share of the work. It was supposed to be bonding somehow, but I’m not sure giving everyone food poisoning would be quite as effective as she thought it would be.

I picked up the bowl, determined to salvage the remains of dinner and turn it into something that would save my reputation. Not that I had much of one to defend, that is.

“Steel? You alright?”

I whirled around in surprise, accidentally dropping the bowl. It shattered on the floor, spattering half-cooked beans and glass across the room.

_“Useless, useless, **useless**. You can’t do anything right, can you, Juno? I ask you to cook dinner because I won’t be home in time and **this** is what happens? I don’t know why I even bother anymore. Do you really care about me? If you did, you wouldn’t mess everything up like this.”_

_“I’m sorry- it was an accident, I didn’t mean to…”_

_“ **Sorry** won’t cut it, Juno. You know, none of my other partners gave me this much trouble. If you tried harder, I wouldn’t have to do this.”_

_“No, please…I’ll clean it up, I promise!”_

_“But then you’ll never learn, Juno. This is for your own good.”_

I was startled back into the present by a hand on my back. I opened my eyes and realized I had dropped to my knees on the floor. I took in the shattered bowl and felt my shoulders begin to shake. “I’m sorry, it was an accident, I can fix it- just give me second, I’m sorry, _please_ , don’t hurt me-“

“Whoa, whoa, I’m not going to hurt you.”

I looked up to see Vespa crouched next to me, her green hair falling haphazardly across her face. She held up her hands non-threateningly and backed away slowly.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” she repeated. I could feel the panic in my chest loosen at her words. Was I… _comforted_? By her presence?

I blinked, feeling hot tears leak out of my eyes. I swiped them away angrily. “Sorry,” I muttered. “I don’t…”

Vespa looked at me knowingly. “Hey, it’s alright. They aren’t here. They can’t hurt you anymore, and I won’t hurt you either. Breathe, idiot, you aren’t going to do yourself any favors by hyperventilating.”

As much as I hated to admit it, she was right. I struggled to get my breathing under control, reminding myself once again how far away I was from Diamond. Vespa didn’t say anything, just waited for me to calm down, a few feet away from me.

That distance, from any other person, might have told me they didn’t want to be near me when I was like this, that I was causing a scene, but from her? It told me she cared, that she knew how suffocated I felt right now.

It honestly felt like a hug.

She cleared her throat. “You good?” she asked uncertainly.

“Yeah, yeah,” I muttered. “Just a…a lingering gift from someone I- used to know.”

“Okay,” she said slowly, leaning back on her heels. “Don’t worry about the bowl, we’ve got lots more around here somewhere. Do you want me to take care of dinner?”

I blinked in surprise. “Uh, no, I’ve got it.”

Vespa snorted. “Not likely. I’ll help finish it up. No argument from you,” she warned.

I slowly got to my feet, gingerly stepping around glass toward the supply closet. “Thanks?”

“Don’t mention it. Broom should be to your left.”

I grabbed the broom and some towels and began wiping up the spill. “About not mentioning it…”

“I won’t say a word.”

Dinner may have taken a little longer than usual that night, but with Vespa’s help, it at least was edible. I noticed she didn’t glare as much at me while we were eating, so that had to be good, right?

~~~

Jet handed me the dress without a word. That’s customary for the big guy, he tends toward the _work_ _now_ , _conversation_ _later_ ideal, but minus the _conversation later_ part. I’d long since learned that his silence was not a sign of disapproval or low intelligence, in fact, it was quite the opposite. What he lacked in words he made up for in wisdom. At least, that’s what I thought. Sometimes what he said made no sense.

Today was no different. Tensions were higher than usual as we prepared for a big stakes heist, one that could go wrong _so easily_.

It was your usual Aurinko crime- infiltrate the target location somehow, get close to the principal, steal the information or object without getting caught, then if you’ve managed to survive all that, escape.

Each of us had different specialties, qualities that Buddy had handpicked to complete a perfect crime family. Rita was instrumental in gathering info on whatever poor schmuck we were targeting, the place we were doing it, how to get in and out easily, stuff like that. Jet was the best driver on this side of the Kuiper belt and worked better with Buddy than anyone I’ve ever met. Vespa was a madwoman with a knife and somehow an excellent doctor? Not sure how that works, but she’s got a very impressive lab with lots of glowing juices and beeping things. Ransom was the model thief, able to slip into a role easier than getting dressed in the morning, easily pocketing gems and keycards, leaving the marks none the wiser. You had better luck tracing the scent of cologne left behind than catching the thief without a name.

I still think that’s a stupid nickname, but hey, I was a PI for decades, what can I say? We’ve all got our dramatic flairs.

And then there’s me. About as useful as a detective in space, which is _exactly_ what I am. I still don’t know what Buddy saw in me but I wasn’t about to go asking her about it. Today, though, I was going to play the part of a damsel in distress.

Bait.

Sure does make a lady feel special.

I was supposed to be a distraction, something to keep the target, Mx. Hylena Ratatosk, and their eyes on something _other_ than the painting we were stealing. I was still unclear _why_ we were stealing a painting, of all things, but I trusted Buddy.

I unzipped the dress bag and the fabric slithered out onto my bed. As I picked it up and held it to my body, examining it in the mirror, my breath caught in my chest.

This was my dress.

Well, it looked just like mine. The same cut of silver silk, ruffles off the shoulder, the hemline diagonal across my thighs-

I had a very similar dress rotting in the back of an abandoned apartment in Hyperion City. After a failed wedding, I hadn’t been able to look at it without a sinking, abandoned feeling rising in my throat. No matter how much time went by, I still couldn’t stand thinking about that day, how worthless and _alone_ I had felt.

I could see dissimilarities now, small differences in the stitching and color, but still, it _felt_ like my dress. But even knowing that there was no way this was mine, as I slipped it on I remembered getting ready so many years ago.

My skin itched and stung underneath the fabric. I knew it wasn’t anything wrong with the material of the dress. Pulling it on felt like undoing the years of change and growth I had undergone since Diamond left me at the altar, regressing into a version of myself so scared of being alone I was willing to make the toxic relationship legally permanent.

Not that we would have lasted, but still, I shuddered to think what would have happened if everything had gone through.

I walked back into the planning room self-consciously tugging on the edges of the dress. Ransom and Buddy looked up from the blueprints, each wearing a different expression. Ransom smiled at me, his teeth sharp and glinting in the light. Buddy smiled as well, but hers was of satisfaction. Her perfect little pawn would blend _right_ in at this fancy gala or whatever the hell was going on.

“It’s a little small,” I said, wishing there was something else I could wear, something else I could _do_ to tell them how awful I felt.

“Nonsense, darling, you look like a dream.”

“A goddess,” Ransom murmured reverently. Normally these praises would make me blush, but now, they just felt…wrong.

_For the good of the mission_ , I told myself sternly.

I sat down at the table and began reviewing the route I would take out of the place once Vespa had secured the painting. Usually, Ransom and I were partnered up on things like these, as we “ _played the part of a lovestruck couple so well people would be looking away from us in embarrassment._ ”

Buddy’s words, not mine.

But not this time. Today, I had the (mis) fortune of working with Vespa, as her talents were better suited to a slash-and-grab type thing that we had going on today. We would meet Jet outside the event and drive off into the sunset together, tires blazing.

Hopefully.

After finalizing the details, Buddy dismissed me and told me to go find Vespa. “Make sure she’s ready for today,” she said, bent over a new map with Ransom. “So, Pete, the vents open here and here, something the security layout didn’t mention. We can utilize that by…”

Vespa was in the med-bay, preparing samples of something I’m sure would make me sick to pronounce. “Uhh, Buddy sent me to ask if you’re all set for today.”

She looked up from her worktable, bright yellow gloves pulled up to her elbows. She looked me up and down, then said, without a hint of sarcasm, “Are you really wearing that?”

“Yeah, and?”

“You look like somebody forced you to wear baby’s skin.”

“Hey, what is your _problem_?”

Vespa set down the flask of whatever-it-is carefully. “Not my problem, Steel, it’s yours,” she spat. “You are clearly uncomfortable.”

Oh. _Oh._ Out of all people I would’ve expected to say something, she was not one of them. I sighed. “Yeah, I don’t like it either,” I conceded.

“Did you mention it to Buddy?”

“No! I’m just a little uncomfortable, it’s nothing major, I don’t want to mess up the plan-“

Vespa rolled her eyes. “Swallow your pride, you dolt, she won’t mind. I’ve had a few times where we switched out an outfit, it’s nothing major. Do you want me to say something to her?”

I was beyond grateful for her offer. I don’t know _how_ I would’ve managed to concentrate wearing _that_ all day. “Sure, if it’s not too much trouble…?”

“I’ll be right back.”

In the end, I wore an old dress Vespa had from years ago, scarlet fabric fanning out almost like a cape when I walked. Buddy just nodded at the odd request, not making a big deal out of it or anything.

There is _nothing_ more satisfactory than a job well done. Well, maybe a job well done while wearing a dress that makes a lady feel like a million creds.

~~~

The Carte Blanche had almost anything I could need for a comfortable journey through interstellar space, something that never ceases to amaze me. It does not, however, have any avocadoes. An avocado a day keeps the doctor away, right? I’m never quite sure how that saying goes.

Somehow, I had ended up in the med-bay, sitting on the examination table, feeling like I was six years old again.

“When did the symptoms start?” Vespa asked me, drawing me out of my thoughts.

I hesitated, trying to focus. “This morning, I think?” My voice sounded distant in my ears and not even remotely like myself. I began to tell her what had been happening, trying not to feel self-conscious about it.

I had woken up this morning, curled around Ransom like usual, but I couldn’t feel my hands. I thought they were just asleep, which happened quite often, but I quickly realized something was off. I didn’t really _feel_ any of my limbs. I could see Ransom next to me, but I couldn’t tell there was another person there. My body felt like a robotic suit, one that couldn’t sense anything outside of its auditory and visual processors.

As I was getting up and ready for the day, I felt a thousand miles away, almost _watching_ myself do the routine tasks that had become so regular for me. I brushed my teeth, washed my face, and pulled on cargo shorts and a t-shirt, not feeling remotely like I was a person. I looked in the mirror and almost jumped. A person was looking back at me, wearing my clothes and my face, but they weren’t _me._

It took me a few minutes of confusion to realize I hadn’t recognized _myself_.

“Juno, love? Are you alright?”

I had almost knocked the tubes and bottles of creams Ransom used off the counter at his words, startled. “Yes,” I called back, feeling… _echoey_ , somehow. Something was off inside of me, something distancing myself from myself.

I opened the door in a daze and let him in. He pressed a kiss to my cheek in greeting. I didn’t feel it.

For the rest of the day, I felt like I was moving robotically, sometimes zoning out and not even noticing it. The strangest thing was _nobody_ _else_ noticed it. I couldn’t help but think something was pulling my strings, keeping me moving without my consent. I don’t know…I just felt helpless and far away.

As I finished telling Vespa, I tried to stay present, fighting to keep my consciousness in my body. It was hard, honestly. I just wanted to slip away for a moment, but I was _terrified_ of what would happen if I did.

That’s when I realized it. This was what having the Theia SOUL felt like, something controlling part of my brain and all of my body.

“Do you think-“ I cleared my throat, looking anywhere but at Vespa. “It could have something to do with the SOUL? Lingering effects or something? I mean I’m pretty sure I destroyed them all and their programming, but today…”

She cocked her head to one side, appraising me. “I’m going to ask you some questions and I need you to answer honestly. Don’t lie,” she warned, “There’s no point. I can tell most of the time when someone is hiding something, anyway.”

That did absolutely _nothing_ to assuage my fears, but I nodded anyway.

“When you were younger, did you experience anything traumatic?”

I had to laugh.

“What’s so funny?” she spat.

“You just described my entire childhood, hell, my _life_ , in one word.”

She glared at me. “Not funny, Steel. Next question. Do you often have trouble sleeping?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have problems with your short term memory?”

“…sometimes? Kind of?”

“Do you have difficulty paying attention in low-stress situations?”

“If you mean boring situations, then yes.”

I was beginning to grow antsy. I could tell these were questions that I did not want to be able to answer _yes, definitely,_ to, but here we were. Vespa didn’t bat an eye at my responses, firing off questions like she was reading a list.

“Do you experience mood swings?”

“You mean there’s another way to feel?”

“How often do you find yourself anxious?”

“Yes. All the time.”

“Do you avoid situations that could be potentially distressing or dangerous, especially involving other people?”

“I like to be able to control what’s happening around me to a degree, so yeah, I guess.”

“Do you have negative feelings toward yourself? Potential self-harm or suicidal thoughts?”

I laughed again. “Yeah, they’ve gotten better lately. Thankfully.”

Vespa looked at me, something like concern on her face. She didn’t say anything and I could _hear_ her brain working.

“So, what’s the verdict, doc? Am I going insane? Or is it the Theia SOUL, like I thought?”

“I’ll need to do a more in-depth examination,” she said seriously. “But all the basic signs are there.”

“Of _what,_ exactly?”

“Steel, I think you have PTSD. What you are currently feeling is called dissociation and often goes hand-in-hand with various forms of trauma.” Vespa stood up, stretching. “Nothing permanent, of course, except for the trauma. But I know how to help you with that, so that should be a relief.”

“Not as much of one as you’d think,” I muttered. But she was right, it _was_ nice to know that I wasn’t losing my mind or being controlled by the Theia anymore.

“Right now we’ll just focus on getting through this episode, then we’ll deal with the rest of PTSD as it comes, alright?”

I nodded. _We_. I wasn’t alone in this. She wanted to help me, and I found myself inclined to accept it.

“So…how do I stop feeling like a stranger in this awful flesh prison?”

She cracked a grin at that. “It’s not all bad, really. We’ll start off with some sensory treatment, that should work in a few minutes…”

~~~

I would’ve thought being part of one of the most high-end crime families would be more interesting, but I’m not complaining. It isn’t all jobs and heists and thievery, in fact, that’s only a small portion of it. Most of the time we’re on board the Carte Blanche, traveling from planet to planet, planning for the next job, or finding other ways to keep busy.

Buddy liked to have a routine in place to keep us all from going stir-crazy. Mondays we watched a stream courtesy of Rita’s library of ten million, Tuesdays Jet showed us basic engine repair and safety. Wednesdays Ransom had us sweating in some kind of bizarre physical exercise, sometimes gymnastics, sometimes a form of dance that kept him limber as a spring chicken, always something that was _infuriating_ to watch him perform effortlessly while we sweated and shook from the strain.

Thursdays Buddy taught us life skills. Public speaking, faking your way out of not having a necessary document, fixing a quick injury so you can make it back to safety, essential things like that.

Once a month we all got a routine check-up from Vespa. She argued her way out of a weekly thing, as did I. There was no way I was going to do a weekly activity either. So, every other week I gave tips on being a good detective like I ever was one.

The thing was, try as we might to keep busy, there were inevitable down days. Days where there was nothing to do but laze around the ship, trying not to bump elbows with another person, struggling to find your own space to just…not sleep the day away.

Today was one of those days. Buddy vanished into her quarters to do some mysterious scheming I didn’t care to ask about, we’d find out what she was planning soon enough. Rita and Jet were off somewhere, watching one of their streams that drove Ransom up the wall. Ransom was in the exercise room, doing something that involved a great deal of music and clanking weights. As much as I would’ve liked to watch, he preferred to be alone. There was no way I would be able to keep up with him, so I was alone.

Even a year previously, if I had been alone for an extended period of time, I tended to turn self-destructive, stewing in a messy mix of regret and self-hatred until I wound up passed out drunk somewhere.

But now, things were different. I wasn’t back to normal, whatever that was. After being depressed and traumatized for most of my life, was there a _normal_ to go back to? I’m not sure who I was before, well, _everything_ , so this journey to healing or whatever the hell Buddy called it was less rediscovery and more inventing myself for the first time around.

Vespa had been helping me deal with the side effects of PTSD, which, contrary to my first opinion, were actually quite effective in the healing process. I’d slept well for the past few days and woke up feeling like a person, one who deserved to eat and drink and live a normal life.

It was a weird feeling, but definitely one I could get used to.

I decided to head to the galley to work on some of my more basic cooking skills. I would be the first to admit I needed to improve in that area more than anything. Nearly everything I made was only half-edible.

When I reached the galley, however, I found Vespa slumped at the kitchen table.

I hadn’t seen her all day, so I assumed she was with Buddy. But here she was, half-passed out with a bottle of the strongest Martian whiskey I’d ever tasted. Drinking it felt like washing your insides out with fire and then regurgitating your innards. Legend has it the first person to brew it drank half a pint then passed out for seventeen days and woke up determined to go stone-cold sober.

“Vespa?”

She looked up, her eyes unfocused. I immediately could tell this was one of her Bad Days. Every so often, something inside her would snap, leaving her by turns raging mad, hopelessly depressed, numb as a rock, or some combination of the three. She told me (in confidence) that the visions would get really bad then.

“Steel?” she slurred, the drink sloshing in her hand. “Issit you?”

I sat down carefully on her other side. “Yeah, it’s me. What happened to you?”

She took a swig of whiskey straight from the bottle, wincing slightly as it went down. “I thought- thought you’da left by now…” Some of the alcohol trickled out of her mouth.

“Why would you think that?” I asked incredulously.

“They leave me, all th’ time. I’m always alone, thas when I can’t think straight.” Her words ran together, making it hard to decipher what she was saying.

“Nobody’s leaving you. Buddy loves you, she would rather chop off her own right hand then leave you behind.”

Vespa slumped again, her head hitting the table. “I know, I know…but they always tell me she’s leaving. That she’s dead, or trapped, or-“

“That’s just the radiation sickness,” I said, trying my best to sound gentle and comforting. _Comforting_ was not my thing, but after everything she’s been through, Vespa deserved my best attempt. “We would never leave you,” I repeated firmly. I tentatively stretched out a hand and awkwardly patted her shoulder.

To my surprise, she leaned into my touch. “Thanks, Steel,” she said, her voice rough as ever. “Y’know, I didn’t like you when Jet brought you here.”

“Gee, thanks.”

Vespa shushed me sloppily. “Shuddup, idiot, I’m tryin to tell you something.”

“Sorry.”

“’S alright. What I was _gonna_ say is you’ve grown on me since then. We’re friends, right?”

I nodded. “Yup. Vespa and Juno, friends and unstoppable team of the best knife-wielder and sharp-shooter in the Inner _and_ Outer Rims.”

She snorted, taking another sip of whiskey. “You’re the worst.”

I faked a gasp. “ _I_ thought we were _friends_.”

Vespa rolled her eyes, trying to take another drink, but I gently grabbed the bottle out of her hand.

“I think you’ve had enough for now. Trust me, you’ll thank me tomorrow.”

“Whatever, Steel.”

I expected her to grab for the bottle, maybe pull out her knife, but she just leaned against me. Moments later I heard her snoring.

“Hey, did you _fall asleep on me_?” I asked incredulously.

She didn’t answer, proving that yes, she had fallen asleep on me. The universe is truly a strange and wonderful place.

“We won’t leave you,” I said to the sleeping Vespa, hoping some part of her could hear me. “I wouldn’t leave you.”

Maybe it would be better if she didn’t hear me.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so a few things I think are important... Vespa doesn't know exactly what Juno's been through. She knows vaguely that he has been repeatedly abused and struggled with his mental health, but when he refers to his past she doesn't know specifics. Like a good friend she doesn't push him and instead tries to comfort him. He does the same thing.  
> All of the questions she asks him are helpful in identifying PTSD but are NOT definite indicators.  
> Please leave a comment if you enjoyed, they make me soooooooo happy, thanks for reading all this way!!!!


End file.
